Zeroing in on the Beacon

-->

Hope this sheds some light on mystery of the Monument Hill tower

By Rob Carrigan, robcarrigan1@gmail.com

Aviation has, and continues to make contrails across the local sky ways. The first known records show Fred Lewis, hat in hand, as a passenger, and the fellow above in the white sweater (unidentified) as his pilot first dropping into Monument in 1922.

"That was a thrilling experience for everyone," wrote Monument historian Lucille Lavelett, back in the 1970s about that first flight.

About 10 years ago, I wrote a piece about the beacon light that stood on top of Monument Hill, that later guided substantial air traffic in afterwards. 

Over the years, I continued to receive considerable email and other feedback regarding columns I wrote about the light.

Cole Harris who resided in the Gleneagle area, had this to add nearly a decade ago.

“I am 99% sure that was one of the system of nationwide beacons installed by the predecessor of the Federal Aviation Administration.”

Harris said then as he had been a pilot since 1948, has 21 years as an Air Force pilot, and was still flying part-time as a flight instructor when he contacted me.

“In the 1930s when commercial aviation was just getting started, the U.S airways system did not have the electronic navigation aids that we have today (VOR beacons, GPS, nationwide radar flight following, etc).

Airways navigation was very simplistic and very difficult at night if you were not flying on instruments. To aid pilots flying at night in visual conditions, a series of rotating light beacons was installed on airways throughout the country with a rotating white light and with a green light on the backside of the white rotating light. This green light would flash a letter of the alphabet in Morse code to uniquely identify that particular beacon. The rotating beacon towers were spaced approximately 10 mile apart and each beacon green light would flash its own identifying letter. The sequence of letters was as follows: W-U-V-H-R-K-D-B-G-M. Pilots would remember this sequence by the following sentence:

When Undertaking Very Hard Routes Keep Directions By Good Methods.

“At the end of this series of letters, the sequence would repeat itself for the next ten beacon lights this system would allow a pilot flying at night to know his position with a reasonable degree of accuracy. I am quite sure the beacon tower on top of Monument Hill was one of these lights on the airway between Denver, Albuquerque, and El Paso. I hope this sheds some light (no pun intended) on the mystery of the Monument Hill Tower.”

It is becoming a battle in other states. A January 2017 story in “General Aviation News,” by Linde Hoff, calls attention to Montana’s recent efforts to keep the beacon bulbs burning.

“By 1945 Montana had 39 beacons illuminated across the state, and the system flourished nationwide until the 1960s. By 1965, eight federally-operated beacons in Montana remained, all of which were located in mountain passes. Another 13 were transferred to state control and operated and maintained by the Montana Aeronautics Division of the State Department of Transportation,” Hoff wrote.

“Today, the beacon atop MacDonald Pass is listed on the National Register of Historic Places and is easily visible from U.S. Highway 12. More importantly it still guides pilots safely through and over the peaks during the darkened hours while the light shines and sends its important signal of warning.But today the beacons are becoming dark as the state is not fixing them as they break down,”

The Montana Pilots Association (MPA) has stymied attacks on the beacons in the past, noting they are a safety net pilots have enjoyed for many years. MPA officials say the cost to maintain the system is roughly $1,000 per beacon per year.

“So what is a pilot’s life worth in the state of Montana, not to mention those passengers who might be in the plane with him or her?” MPA officials ask.

“Technology is wonderful but not perfect, and it will oftentimes break down, so I just hope when I step onto my next flight — whether it be commercial or private — all systems are “go,” because there might not be a beacon to bring us home safely over the mountains.”

Photo Information:

Photo 1.
First Plane in Monument, 1922. (photo courtesy of Palmer Lake Historical Society).

Photo 2.
1930 Field and Light Beacon. (photo courtesy of the Federal Aviation Administration.)

Photo 3.
Solitary visual beacon and arrow system was used to guide planes across the nation.  (FAA photo)

Graphic 4.
Air Mail schedule along the beacon route in 1924. (FAA)

Beacon tower blown to bits after move from Monument

You don’t miss something until it is gone

By Rob Carrigan, robcarrigan1@gmail.com

It is often true that you don’t miss something until it is gone. Sometimes you don’t even miss it then. That may be the case with the beacon light, of Beacon Lite Road fame, here in Monument.
Many years ago, I received fascinating copies of undated newspaper photos about the Beacon from reader Marianne Zagorski of Palmer Lake, and ever since that time I have been trying to nail down additional details and information.
Zagorski, who lived in Palmer Lake since the 1960s, said at the time, she thought the tower was taken down in the early 1980s.
 “As you’re coming up a long upslope on I-25 from Greenland, look for the beacon light on the right. Turn before you go west to Palmer Lake,” was directions she provided me but I have heard from other sources that it was roughly near where the two existing cell towers are today.
The captions from the photos were the attention getters.
“Aviation hazard – Two members of “C” Company, 4th Engineer Battalion from Fort Carson prepare to demolish a 110 foot tower Wednesday by climbing its base and planting explosive charges. The structure, considered a hazard to aviation, was destroyed as part of a military exercise,” read the cutline that apparently appeared in the Gazette Telegraph, crediting John Morgan with taking the photo.
“Going, going, gone. A little plastic explosive went a long way as a 110-foot tower was demolished in an exercise at Fort Carson. The tower was obtained in Monument and reassembled for a film by the British Broadcasting Company in April. With the film completed, the tower was no longer needed, so members of the 4th Engineer battalion ‘disassembled’ it in their own inimitable way,” read additional caption that appeared on a different page.
“By then we lived opposite the beacon and were disappointed and insulted by this use of it. Such a waste,” noted Zagorski.
Longtime area resident Dorothy Sibell recalled that the tower was removed using a helicopter but was at a loss to give a definitive date. Others recalled it was originally used as a marker to help locate an early airstrip in the area.
A few weeks ago, I stumbled on to this article in the June 12, 1980, Tribune under the headline "Beacon Tower to Be in a Movie."
Bill Kezziah was owner and editor of the paper then.
"It used to be a beacon, lighting the way for planes that flew down the Front Range from Denver to Colorado Springs during World War II. But now the beacon that sat atop and 80-foot tower on Monument Hill is no more. It has won fame of a different sort and with an ironic twist," said the article.
The tower was used in a movie the British Broadcasting Company was making of the well-known physicist J. Robert Oppenheimer.
"Some of the filming was made at Ft. Carson where the tower was moved and where it apparently will stay," the 1980 report said.
"The twist is that during the war, the tower and the beacon was a light to keep airmen from straying too close to the Front Range. But in the movie, the tower is the prop for the test of the atomic bomb. "
Jeff Tarbert, general manager of the Colorado Springs cable vision company that sold the Monument Hill tower to the movie makers is quoted at the time, "In fact, the tower is an almost exact replica of the actual test tower, although it is a little shorter."
The cable company purchased the land and the tower from Scott Ferguson in hopes of using it in the cable operation.
"Technical problems prevented its use for that, so when the broadcast company was casting around for a tower to be in the movie, a deal was struck."
According to the 1980 article, the movie production company was seeking buildings and other equipment to duplicate the Alamogordo, New Mexico site where Oppenheimer and the other scientists carried out their experiments. They found similar buildings at Ft. Carson.
"The production crew has moved from Ft. Carson, but an Army spokesman said the movie company donated the tower to Ft. Carson to be used as an observation spire."
Long-time Monument historian Lucille Lavelett noted the historical tie to the community in 1980 article, as the source for naming Beacon Lite Road, and recalled the name being changed in the early 1950s.

Top photo: The original beacon light was nearby where this cell tower stands today.

Bottom photo: Actually two towers, semi-disguised as tall pine trees, top Monument Hill and can be seen from the road.

Daredevil Aviator: "It's going to get me someday."

The spectators got their thrill, but it cost Johnstone his life

By Rob Carrigan, robcarrigan1@gmail.com

A hundred years ago — to most folks — flying in an airplane seemed to be just taking one step toward death’s door. The presumption was reinforced at Overland Park in Denver one November afternoon in 1910, as thousands of air show spectators watched Ralph Johnstone plummet to his death in front of them.
“He had gambled with death once too often, but he played the game to the end, fighting coolly and grimly to the last second to regain control of his broken machine. Fresh from his triumphs at Belmont Park, where he had broken the world’s record for altitude with a flight of 9,714 feet, Johnstone attempted to give the thousands of spectators an extra thrill with is most daring feat, the spiral glide, which had made the Wright aviators famous. The spectators got their thrill, but it cost Johnstone his life,” according to newspaper accounts at the time.
It was actually Johnstone’s second flight that fateful day. He had gone through a series of dips, rolls and glides without incident with others of the Wright Brothers trained flying crew. The former Vaudeville bicycle stunt performer took the biplane up once more and out toward the foothills to gain altitude.
“Still ascending, he swept back in a big circle, and as he reached the north end of the enclosure, he started his spiral glide. He was then at an altitude of about 800 feet. With his plane tilted at an angle of almost 90 degrees, he swooped down in a narrow circle, the aeroplane seeming to turn almost in its own length. As he started the second circle, the middle spur, which braces the left side of the lower plane, gave way, and the wing tips of both upper and lower planes folded up as though they had been hinged. For a second, Johnstone attempted to right the plane by warping the other wing up. Then the horrified spectators saw the plane swerve like a wounded bird and plunged straight toward the earth,” said a report appearing in the Savannah Tribune at the time.
Ever a cool one, the young aviator didn’t panic however.
“Johnstone was thrown from his seat as the nose of the plane swung downward. He caught on one of the wire stays between the airplane and grasped one of the wooden braces of the upper plane with both hands. Then, working with hands and feet, he fought by main strength to warp the planes so that their surfaces might catch the air and check his descent. For a second it seemed that he might succeed, for the football helmet the wore blew off and fell much more rapidly than the plane.”
About 300 feet from the ground the plane turned end-over-end then plunged, scattering fleeing spectators.
“Scarcely had Johnstone hit the ground before morbid men and women swarmed over the wreckage, fighting with each other for souvenirs. One of the broken wooden stays had gone almost through Johnstone’s body. Before doctors or police could reach the scene, one mad had torn this splinter from the body and run away, carrying his trophy with the aviators blood still dripping from its ends. The crowd tore away the canvass from over the body, and even fought for the gloves that had protected Johnstone’s hands from the cold,” said the Savannah paper.
When Ralph Johnstone died his widow was quoted in the Kansas City Times, "I never was worried about Ralph. He was so brave and careful. It seemed nothing could happen to him. I did not take into consideration a mishap to his machine."
Just three days before his final flight Johnstone was quoted one last time. "It's going to get me some day. It's sooner or later going to get us all. Don't think our Aim is the advancement of science. That is secondary and is worked out by the men on the ground. When you get into the air, you get the intoxication of flying. No man can help feeling it. Then he begins to flirt with it, tilt his plane into all sorts of dangerous angles, dips and circles. This feeling is only the trap it sets for us... the non-mankilling airplane of the future will be created from our crushed bodies."
A year later, reports in the New York Times noted that his wife had decided to take up flying herself.
“Widow of Man Who Was Dashed to Death to Try for License,” said the the Sept. 14, 1911, headline in the Times.
“Although leading aviation schools have steadfastly refused to teach feminine pupils at any price, women are gradually forcing their way into the hazardous game, and followers of the sport are discussing with interest today the report that Mrs. Ralph Johnstone of Kansas City, whose husband was killed at Denver, is soon coming to New York to master the craft that widowed her. It is understood that she will take lessons at the aviation colony on Long Island with a view to becoming a licensed professional aviator. There are only two licensed women aviators in this country at present-- Miss Mathilde Moisant and Miss Harriet Quimby---both of whom are now on Long Island,” reported the Times.

###